


Accidentally Overheard

by xcrstfallenstrx



Series: Eavesdroppers Anonymous [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcrstfallenstrx/pseuds/xcrstfallenstrx
Summary: Daryl had a nasty habit of eavesdropping.  Well… not so much eavesdropping as accidentally overhearing.  It wasn’t his fault really.  After all, that’s what doors were made for.  Sometimes though he heard things he wished he could forget.  Yesterday was one of those days…





	Accidentally Overheard

**Author's Note:**

> Alright… I just finished this, so the last few pages have only been proofed once (10-15 times too few by my standards), but I wanted to get this story posted.
> 
> This story will contain m/m sexual intercourse. In FF Daryl tends to be a bit OOC when it comes to anything sexual, so I tried very very hard to keep him IC, and in the end it might have made Jesus OOC, but we don’t know as much about him yet. I really tried to stay true to who I thought they both were, including Jesus, even if reading it back he seemed a little OOC. I thought when he was really in love, for the first time, it would make him lose that calm, cool, collected and in control, exterior we’ve seen so far. Not everywhere, but where Daryl was concerned. We saw a bit of that in his second episode when he was worried about his people.
> 
> Feel free to leave me notes, and comments. I live for feedback!! Thanks!
> 
> Playlist of my videos for this ship on yt:  
>  [My Dixus Collection](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLu6cxfqCMO9nxIDLMKHd1N9wC99bBsfBN)

**Accidentally Overheard**

The problem with being a trained hunter is that you’re always hunting. You don’t know it, but it’s in the way you move, the way you breathe. All natural like, you start walking softer and breathing calmer. Truth be told, he’d always had to walk on eggshells; it was the way things were. Merle had always just barged through like a rabid coon, but he had always taken to being unseen as often as possible.

Add to that years of having to be ready for walkers at all times, and well, it was ingrained in him now. He couldn’t force himself to make a sound as he walked if he tried. After running like hell, with his lungs on fire, his breathing was barely more than a whisper. This would be all well and good if it didn’t mean he had a nasty habit of eavesdropping.

Well… not so much eavesdropping as accidentally overhearing. No one ever heard him coming. It was a gift and a curse. A gift for him when he had his eyes set on an enemy. A curse when he heard things he knew weren’t meant for his ears.

Yesterday was one of _those_ days. He’d just been minding his own damn business when he walked into a clearly private conversation, and really, who has those outside? Ain’t that the kind of shit closed doors were made for? And now, _now_ … he couldn’t get that shit outta his head.

It was like a damn echo somewhere off in the distance but close enough to worry, and it kept following him wherever he went for the rest of the day yesterday. It had snuck up on him around corners while he was dreaming last night, and this morning didn’t seem to be any different. He _needed_ out.

He changed into a clean long sleeve shirt and vest that Jesus had brought him a few days ago, grabbed his crossbow, his backpack, and an apple, and hustled for the main gate. It was early enough that he might miss everyone if he hurried. The guard was just cracking the gate for him when he heard a voice he’d become all to familiar with lately call his name.

_Son of a bitch! If this asshole wasn’t takin’ his sweet ass time with the damn gate I coulda already been gone. I can still get outta here. Just pretend you don’t hear nothing, Daryl._

“Hey, Daryl,” the guard said.

“Hn?” He didn’t mean to sound like a dick but he needed this gate open _now_ and this asshole wanted to _talk_ about it.

“I think Jesus needs you,” he said, and pointed somewhere in the distance behind him. He turned to where the guy was pointing. Yup, there was Jesus making some signal with his hand, but he couldn’t make it out. He shielded his eyes from the early morning sun and squinted. Looked like a five. _Give you five? I don’t think so._

He turned to go out the gate; it _had_ to be open now, only to find it closed again. He gave a silent growl of frustration. This was _not_ how this morning was supposed to go. He almost flinched when he heard boots saunter up behind him. He turned to find Jesus beaming, yes beaming, at him. Who the fuck beamed this early in the morning anyway?

“Thanks for waiting, Daryl,” he said as his smile softened.

_Asshole up there didn’t give me much of a choice_. He glared up at the guy for a couple seconds. He said nothing, just watched Jesus pull a white long sleeve thermal over a black wife-beater. He thought, and not for the first time, _how the hell does this guy scavenge on his own?_ He used to be the kind of guy that bought into stereotypes, Merle had set him on that path, and Glenn had helped him see right, but Jesus was so… _soft_.

“Where you off to so early, Daryl?” Jesus asked as he slid on his blue vest.

“Just out for a stroll. Somethin’ I can do for you?” he replied.

Jesus just shook his head at his rude tone and smiled. “I wouldn’t have stopped you otherwise,” he said as he put his arms through the holster for his daggers.

“Well, go on. What is it?” He did not have time for _this_.

“I got a lead on some guns,” he said as he pulled on his leather jacket, and pulled his long hair out the back. “I need someone to help me check it out.” Jesus checked through his backpack one more time. “Normally I’d go alone, but if what I think is there, is there, well I’m going to need help getting it back here.”

_Damn._ They needed guns. His people, Alexandria, needed guns. Anything else and he would have said no outright, but not this. He nodded his agreement, and Jesus beamed up at him, again. Jesus stood up, pulled his backpack over both shoulders then looked up at the guy manning the gate. “Can you open up for us, Micah?” he said with another smile.

“Sure thing, Jesus,” he said and went to work quickly and efficiently.

_Oh_ now _he wants to hurry. Psht, asshole._

He let Jesus lead the way. Jesus was clearly capable enough to survive on his own, so he didn’t need protection. Well not the ‘in the lead’ kind anyway. Besides he had no idea where they were going. He let his mind wander to the little echo that was _still_ bothering him.

“You know, _neighbor_ …”

“What?!” he said shaking himself out of his thoughts and coming to a standstill mid-step.

“I said, ‘you know she doesn’t _blame you’_ , right? Maggie, I mean,” Jesus said as he turned to face him more fully. Jesus’ eyes were full of questions as he watched him closely. He didn’t appreciate the scrutiny, and he really didn’t appreciate Jesus getting in his business, so he just started walking again.

They walked in silence for another mile, and for him it wasn’t awkward and it wasn’t amicable. Though Jesus now straggled behind him, he was able to keep track of his near silent footsteps, assuring himself that he was still back there. He turned left when he heard Jesus shift left to cross a field.

When they crested the hill at the end of the field he gave a low whistle. Below them was a valley that looked untouched by the last few years. There was a small pond, and a few animals had gathered to drink in the noon time sun. He turned to see Jesus watching him. He felt like he was being dissected. Like Jesus was trying to figure him out.

“You hungry,” Jesus asked as he settled on a large rock nearby.

“I could eat,” he replied.

Jesus unzipped his bag and pulled out an orange, some salted pork, and what looked to be some kind of homemade chips with nuts. Jesus whipped out one of his daggers and split the orange down the middle with one smooth slice, and handed him half. Then he broke the piece of meat in two pieces and held one out for him as well.

“Apple chip?” Jesus asked as he held the bag out towards him.

He shook his head ‘no’, and bit down into the orange, juice running down his cheek and under his chin. He used his palm to clean his face, and found Jesus watching him _again_. “What?” he demanded.

“Why haven’t you talked to Maggie?” Jesus asked.

It was a simple enough question, but instead of answering he said, “Why’s it matter to you?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Jesus replied.

They finished eating in silence and when he was done he looked over to find Jesus holding out a water bottle for him. He took a small sip. They should conserve their water. He didn’t know how far they were going. Jesus put the bottle back in his bag, put it over his shoulders and started making his way down the hill. He watched Jesus go, and wished he had made it out the damn gate for the millionth time.

He gave a small sigh as he looked out over the little valley again. Places like this weren’t supposed to exist anymore. Someday he’d come back when he could spend more time. He’d bring Rick and Judith and Maggie and the baby. Glenn would have liked that. He looked over the valley again with a more critical eye. The tree line was pretty far off from the pond. It gave them a long range of site for trouble. The kids would be safe to play here.

A sharp bird call sounded from below him and he looked down to see Jesus motioning to him from the tree line. He nodded and Jesus wandered into the trees. He started jogging down the hill. He didn’t like losing sight of Jesus in the woods. On a road where the lines of site were clear it was nothing, but in a forest where trouble could be right around every tree, it was a different story. _He_ didn’t like the guy, but Maggie had taken a liking to him, so _that_ was all that mattered.

He caught up to Jesus, and matched his stride. Even here, his footsteps were silent. He was impressed by how much Jesus’ movements matched his own, and his footsteps were almost as quiet. In Hilltop he was nothing like this. He was always relaxed and calm, ready to insert sunshine and fuckin’ rainbows at any given moment anywhere he damn well pleased. He flicked his eyes over Jesus’ face, and was surprised to find his ready smile nowhere to be seen. He looked down and Jesus’ hands hovered over his daggers. Jesus was ready for anything, and he nodded with respect.

After nearly a day of just walking with Jesus he was starting to understand that there was more to this guy then met the eye. Jesus always scavenged on his own, but he had assumed he took a similar tactic to Glenn. Stick and move, avoid rather than fight. Jesus had snuck in and out of Negan’s compound without anyone spotting him. Again, in and out, stick and move. Guerilla warfare, but after watching his movements all day he was sure Jesus’ hand-to-hand skills far surpassed his own. If there was a word for Jesus, _soft_ wasn’t it.

He stopped short, putting himself partially in front of Jesus. Jesus took the hint and stilled, his fingers wrapping around the hilts of his daggers. He used two fingers to point to his eyes, and then pointed them out into the woods. _We’re being watched._ Jesus nodded and started to scan the forest around them. He pulled up his crossbow, his eyes grazing over the trees, his ears reaching for any sign of their hunter. Whatever is was, it was getting closer and closer. He could _feel_ it.

A nearly inaudible thump sounded behind them and he pushed Jesus out of the way, whipping around, crossbow raised, and putting himself firmly between whoever it was and Jesus. There was nothing there, until he lowered his eyes. “Fuck…”

Jesus stepped onto the tip of his toes trying to look over his right shoulder, but he put his arm out pushing him back instead. “Daryl,” he began, “what the…” but he never got to finish because a long low growl was his answer.

He looked the cougar over. She had recently been heavy with pups. If even one of them had survived, they couldn’t kill her. “Eastern cougar,” he told Jesus taking a small slow step backwards, and pushing Jesus back with him.

“They are extinct in Virginia,” Jesus replied.

“Well you go right ahead and tell her that hippie,” he said as he took another slow step backwards, this one larger. He took Jesus with him again, wrapping an arm around his waist to make sure he stayed upright through this little dance. “Count of three hippie,” he said as he made sure he was fully blocking Jesus from view. “One, two, three!”

On the count of three Jesus took off running, and he waited just one more second so they wouldn’t trip over each other before he started to run. He could hear the cougar pursuing them, and did his best to keep Jesus in his sights. The boy could run. He pushed himself harder trying to make up some of the space between them. They just needed to get out of range of her territory and she’d break off pursuit. She wouldn’t leave her pups for long.

He ran like the devil was chasing him. It seemed like they’d been running for miles and miles, and she was still back there. _Son of a bitch! We’ve been running_ into _her territory_. It was the only reason she would still be pursuing them. She wouldn’t stop until she _had_ to go back to her pups.

“Daryl, there,” he heard Jesus yell, and followed his hand. There seemed to be some sort of hunting cabin ahead. The door looked intact. He nodded and they veered for the cabin. Jesus reached the cabin first, slamming the door shut behind him as he slid into the room. They pushed back against the door as the cougar tried to force the door open from the other side.

By the time she gave up it was dark outside. Jesus slid down the door with a huge sigh of relief. Jesus shrugged out of his backpack, and pulled out the bottle of water taking two gulps and holding it out. He took the bottle from Jesus and took two gulps for himself. Closing the bottle and leaving it on the ground near Jesus’ knee. He found a small counter and put his backpack down. He dug inside looking for the apple he had grabbed earlier. When his fingers brushed over it, he pulled it out and used his knife to cut it in half.

He walked over to Jesus and handed it to him. “Thank you, Daryl,” Jesus said, and he knew he was smiling, even if he couldn’t see it. He settled against the door next to Jesus. Just because she was gone for now didn’t mean she wouldn’t come back. She might also still be out there waiting in the night. They couldn’t leave until first light.

“Thank you, Daryl,” Jesus said, breaking the silence.

“For what?” he asked. It was a nice sentiment and all, but he hadn’t _done_ anything.

“For trying to protect me back there,” Jesus replied, “but I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t… wasn’t…” Jesus was misreading the whole situation. He hadn’t been trying to protect him. He _hadn’t_. It was an instinct to cover his second. That’s just who he was. And even if he had been trying to protect Jesus it was _only_ because Maggie really liked the guy.

“Well just the same,” he said softly, “you shouldn’t put yourself in harms way for me. I can take care of myself, always have, and your people need you.”

The guy was so level-headed and polite _all_ the damn time, it got on his nerves. It was like nothing got under his skin. Nothing ruffled his feathers. No one ever rubbed him the wrong way. No matter what happened he just _kept_ smiling, and brushed it off. It wasn’t natural. They sat in silence in the dark until eventually they both dozed off.

He woke naturally as the sun was barely cresting the sky; the scent of Amaryllis was everywhere. He felt surrounded by it. He opened his eyes to find Jesus’ head on his shoulder, the smell of Amaryllis was coming from his hair. _Fucker doesn’t understand the meaning of the words ‘personal space’._

He wanted to shove him off, but for some reason he didn’t. Instead, his mind wandered back to two days ago, the echo still niggling, poking, prodding, _annoying_ , at the back of his mind. He turned it over and over examining it from all sides. _Why the fuck can’t I let this shit go?_

When Jesus’ head moved to the other side he stood up and stretched out taking in the cabin for the first time. It was more of a large room than a cabin. There was the small counter where his backpack still rested. It wasn’t so much a counter as a chopping block meant for cleaning your kill. There was also an old wood burning stove in one corner, and two windows, just the bare basics.

He grabbed his crossbow and some rope and climbed out the back window and onto the roof. He scanned the woods for any sign of the cougar, but she was gone. Her and her pups were probably starving judging by her aggressive pursuit yesterday.

He climbed down and made his way into the woods. He headed back towards the pond, and it wasn’t long before he started tracking a deer. He circled around making sure he was down wind, and with one clean shot put the buck down. He carried it back to the cabin and cut down the center using the entrails to leave a trail for her. He tied the rope around the buck’s neck and used it to pull the buck up into a sturdy tree.

Once he made sure it was secure and walkers wouldn’t get it, he untied the rope letting it fall to the ground. When he climbed down he found Jesus standing on the little porch watching him with a small smile on his face. “Morning,” Jesus said with a little laugh.

He felt like Jesus was laughing _at_ him. _Yeah, yuck it up, asshole._ “Morning hippie,” he said instead.

He coiled the rope back up and went to grab his bag. He put the rope inside, zipped up and secured it over both his shoulders. He stepped out the door, grabbed his crossbow from where he left it resting against a tree, and turned to Jesus expectantly. Jesus gave a little sigh, grabbed his bag, and after getting his bearings headed northwest.

As they walked he found himself keeping pace with Jesus. Whether that was because Jesus was moving slower or _he_ was walking faster he wasn’t sure. They had cleared the forest and were back on the road so he allowed his mind to wander to his _little_ puzzle.

Every once and a while Jesus would say something, clearly trying to be friendly, and he would nod in acknowledgment, but never reply. He wasn’t really listening anyhow. Jesus didn’t really seem to expect a response anyway.

“ _…friends_ …” He paused, but Jesus kept on walking. Now he was hearing things. “ _You should try it sometime_ ,” Jesus said, and he froze.

“What?” Daryl asked.

“I said ‘having friends isn’t so bad’, Daryl. You should try it sometime,” Jesus replied.

“I got friends,” he snapped back.

Jesus sighed, “Look we’re almost there, let’s just keep moving.”

Jesus smiled at him again before he turned to go, but there was something in it this time that made it seem knowing. Telling. It was more like a smirk then a smile. That smirk made him feel like Jesus was messing with him. Like he _knew_ that he’d been eavesdropping. Like Jesus knew that he knew.

_“I’ve always had a hard time letting anyone in. Neighbors, friends,_ boyfriends _…” Jesus trailed off._

_“Well you should try it sometime,” Maggie said, “even if it doesn’t last,” she finished sadly._

_“To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it in a really long time, but lately,” Jesus paused thoughtfully, “lately, now that I’m finally a part of things here, I’ve wanted to open up to someone in_ another _way.”_

_“Anyone or someone specific?” Maggie asked._

_“There is_ someone _,” Jesus replied._

_“And do I know this_ someone _,” Maggie asked, but her tone of voice implied she already knew the answer to her own question._

He watched Jesus go, and the crux of his little obsession as of late became very clear. _God, this asshole pisses me off._ Who was this someone? He’d been turning it over and over, and no one came to mind. He’d thought Jesus had designs on Maggie or maybe Sasha until a few days ago, but he’d been _very_ wrong. How he’d missed the mark so completely, he didn’t know. Well whoever it was, he hoped it wasn’t anybody from Alexandria. He’d never be able to get rid of Jesus then.

He watched Jesus slow down and begin to watch the ground closely. “This is it,” Jesus said as he came to a complete stop pointing to an old blacktop driveway. He stopped next to Jesus, and looked down the driveway. It was cracked and faded, overgrown, and heavily forested on both sides. It you didn’t know what you were looking for you’d easily miss it.

“What is this place,” he asked as he pulled his crossbow off his shoulder and made sure that he had all the arrow slots filled, and then tucked the front of his shirt into his pants so that the dagger on his hip was easily accessible.

“It was a juvenile detention center,” Jesus said as he unzipped his backpack, “sort of a hoods in the woods type program.” Jesus took off his leather jacket and put it into his bag. Jesus ran his hands over all his daggers one more time then pulled his backpack back on.

They worked their way down the path slowly, listening for any possible disturbance. It was clear no one had been there in a long time. “We gonna have to fight our way in?” he whispered.

“Maybe,” Jesus replied softly, “the guy at Hilltop who told me about this place hasn’t been here since he was a kid.”

“A guy at Hilltop was in this place? Everybody seems so…” he trailed off.

“Nice? Normal?” Jesus finished for him.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod.

“Well people _can_ change, Daryl,” Jesus said, and he made eye contact with him. The look in Jesus’ eyes gave the statement weight. He wondered how much Jesus knew about the early years.

They came to a ten foot high steel chain link gate wide enough for three cars to fit easily, and flanked on both sides by guard houses. He looked both ways. It looked clear. “Over or through,” he asked.

“Uh, over,” Jesus said, “If there are walkers inside, it’d be better to keep them locked in. No point in having them chase us all the way back to Hilltop. Especially if we find the gear.”

He nodded in agreement. “You first, I’ll cover you,” he said. As Jesus made his way up and over he kept his crossbow trained on the fence ready to shoot anything that might come around either corner. When Jesus reached the bottom he slid his bow under the gate and started to climb. Jesus picked up his bow and turned to cover the entrance. He didn’t like when people touched _his_ bow.

When he reached the bottom he took his bow from Jesus and looked it over quickly. _Good. Doesn’t look like he fucked you up, girl_. He looked up from his bow to find Jesus scrutinizing him yet again. He nodded towards the path before them.

Jesus pulled a dagger out for each hand, and made his way forward into the large blacktop area. At one time it had probably been a parking lot, but now the paving was broken down into chunks, grass and weeds pushing their way through and reaching for the sun. Once they were into the parking lot, the trees cleared and he could finally see the building they were looking for. It was a three to four story beige brick building with bars on the windows. It was about five hundred feet away, and the way forward looked clear.

The guard house on the left had a building they hadn’t been able to see before attached. It was actually a large ‘L’ shape. He nodded to the building, and Jesus nodded back. A guard house meant guns. It would be wise to check it out. As they made their way to the door a shuffling caught his attention. Before he could warn Jesus a swarm of walkers came charging around the corner. They must have alerted them when they rattled the gate.

In the fray they were separated easily. Jesus was pushed to the right by seven walkers while he was pushed back into the guard house by two walkers, a young blonde haired boy who couldn’t have been any more than fourteen when he turned, and a guard wearing full armor. He hated killing the young ones. It always made him remember Sophia.

He fired a shot into the boy’s face, the arrow going straight through his eye socket, and he fell to the ground like a sack of bricks. He looked to Jesus briefly, and watched him use some sort of punch-kick combo to push the walkers back, and bring his right hand around to drive a dagger into one of the walkers heads.

He dropped his crossbow; he needed both hands to deal with the guard. The walker pushed him along the wall as he tried to pry his helmet off. As the walker ground him into the brick and scraped him along it, he was thankful for the vest. Brick burn was _not_ pleasant.

He tripped briefly over a pipe leading from under the parking lot into the guard house, but quickly regained his footing. As he came back up he ducked under the walkers arm and using his vest pushed him face first into the wall. With his other hand he slammed his dagger into the walker’s neck breaking it.

Another walker smashed him into the wall as the guards body fell. He brought his elbow back hard twice in quick succession hitting the walker under the chin, breaking his neck as well. He turned to see Jesus backing away, using quick hand movements to keep the walkers at bay. He was almost out of breathing room. He was about to be pinned between a van and the walkers.

Jesus had taken out two of them, but there were still five more. He couldn’t risk throwing his knife, he was pretty accurate, but it was a gamble, and he didn’t have a gun. He ran to his crossbow. He picked it up and leveled it at the walkers just in time to see them overtake Jesus.

His heart _stopped_.

They were _only_ ten feet apart, but right now, in this moment, it may as well have been a thousand. His heart started to pound and it was deafening to his ears. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood pumping through his veins and the slow thump-thump of his heart. He needed to draw them away. Kill them one by one so that he could check on Jesus.

He shot one in the head and quickly reloaded his crossbow. “Over here shitheads,” he screamed and shot a second walker in the neck. _Son of a bitch!_ It had jerked at the last second making him miss his mark. “Dinner’s this way mother fuckers!” he yelled, and started to run for the building. He hoped the door was open and that something worse wasn’t waiting for him inside.

He sprinted across the parking lot, walkers at his heels. His yelling drew even more walkers to him, but he reached the door before they could grab him. He pulled the door closed behind him, and looked for something to bar the door. He grabbed a chair that was nearby and used it to hold the door closed, putting the metal legs through the push bars.

He looked over the room, his crossbow up, and sighed with relief. Nothing. The room was clear. Walkers slammed into the door behind him, and the thud made him jump. “Fuckin’ assholes,” he said under his breath. He needed to move quickly before the walkers at the front door broke through or drew more attention. He pulled out his flashlight. He needed to find a way out of here so he could check on Jesus.

He remembered seeing the walkers overtake Jesus, and his breathing stalled. After Sophia, the loses only got harder, not easier. Jesus wasn’t _his_ friend, but he was one of theirs. He was one of their people. He may have been from Hilltop, but he was a part of Alexandria, and had helped them out more than once. Hell, if Jesus hadn’t turned up at Negan’s compound when he had, he might never have made it out. He’d been in full on rage mode and he might have made some stupid choices if Jesus hadn’t been there.

He shined the light to the left, then to the right. On the right was a reception area, and behind that an office. On the left through a door he could see a room. It had large shatter resistant windows and several tables with attached seating. It appeared to be a visitation room. He went through the door and shined his flashlight over the room. He made his way to the other side, and after a cursory check through the window, went through the next door.

This was a prep room. It was where guards prepared residents to see their visitors. There were some guard lockers, but they were empty. He was worried about Jesus, but he hadn’t forgotten why they came here in the first place. This room had two exits. The one on his right led further into the facility, the door on the other side of the room seemed to follow the exterior of the building.

He needed to stay parallel with the outside of the building. He crossed the room, held his breath, and pushed the next door open slowly with his boot. This door didn’t have a window, so he hadn’t verified the room was empty. With his flashlight in his mouth and his crossbow up he crossed the threshold.

He breathed a sigh of relief. This room had two small windows, and with the sun trickling in, he didn’t need his flashlight anymore. He pulled his flashlight out of his mouth and stuck it back in his pocket. He flexed his jaw for a few seconds; it had been getting sore from gripping the flashlight with his teeth.

This was a break room for the guards. It had a small utility kitchen and vending machines, but they were long empty. There were also two long tables, but the chairs were nowhere to be found, a ceiling mounted TV, and a few couches. He gave the room a quick once over, but there didn’t seem to be anything of use. As he made his way across the room, there was a thump followed by something metal banging in the next room. He checked to make sure his dagger was secure and within easy reach, and raised his crossbow.

He entered the next room soundlessly. He was greeted by a locker room. He couldn’t see the source of the noise right off, because there were rows of blue lockers on the right side of the room, and three back-to-back rows of lockers through the middle of the room. He took the pathway on the left closest to the windows and started making his way down.

At the end of the row he found a broken window. He was about to climb out when he heard another shuffle behind him. He whipped around softly, and started around the lockers. At the corner he pivoted out into the open quickly and just barely stopped himself from pulling the trigger on his crossbow.

“Jesus?” he said, voice filled with surprise.

“Daryl,” Jesus replied, “you scared the shit out of me,” he finished as he dropped his dagger.

He looked Jesus over quickly. His white sleeve was soaked with blood. “You bit? Scratched?” he asked.

“No,” Jesus said, and he looked at him skeptically. “You can check me yourself. I cut my arm on some glass climbing through that window. It was almost too high for me to get through. It feels pretty deep.”

Jesus pulled up his sleeve, and Daryl looked his arm over. It needed stitches. He’d learned a bit from Herschel and could handle it in a pinch, but he would need real medical attention when they got back to Hilltop. “I can stitch you up,” he offered and Jesus nodded.

Jesus sat down on the long bench in between the lockers and struggled to get his backpack off. He pulled off his backpack and pulled out a first aid kit. It wasn’t much, but it had everything he needed; needle, surgical thread, a few gauze pads, and some medical tape. Jesus pulled off the shoulder holster for his daggers with a small hiss, and then unzipped his vest and put it over the bench; last he removed his long sleeve shirt.

He pulled out a flask and a lighter and looked Jesus in the eye, his question plain. “Go ahead,” Jesus said with a shaky smile.

He opened the flask and poured it over the wound. Jesus hissed softly, “So how’d you get away,” he asked. It was more of a distraction than anything, but some part of him was curious. He sterilized the needle with the lighter then ran the thread. He made eye contact with Jesus again, and Jesus nodded.

“You,” he looked up from his task confused. “I got away because of you. They had me cornered so I dropped real quick and rolled under the van. They would have found me for sure, but then you got their attention. When they started chasing you I waited until it was quiet, and rolled out the other side. I could see the walkers banging on the main entrance and the broken window from there, and figured you must have made it inside.”

Jesus hissed again, and he smiled to himself, his head turned to his task. _Quick thinking_. Jesus may be annoying as _all_ get out, but the guy was smart and extremely capable. He had to give Jesus even more credit; he barely flinched as he made the stitches. He added tough and resilient to the list of qualities about Jesus he had discovered on this trip.

When he was finished, he wiped the blood that had pushed to the surface off with Jesus’ shirt, and then poured the flask over the wound one more time. He opened two of the gauze pads and placed them over the wound. Jesus held them in place while he wrapped his forearm with tape to secure the gauze in place.

“Thank you, Daryl,” Jesus said when he finished.

He shrugged in reply, it really _wasn’t_ a big deal, and began to put his things away. Jesus opened his bag and pulled out another long sleeve shirt. He pulled it over his small frame, then pulled on his vest and zipped it in place. Jesus left one of the daggers from his shoulder holster on the bench and put the rest in his bag.

Last, Jesus pulled out the apple chips with nuts, before closing his bag. Jesus took one out and as he bit into it, he held the bag out. He took a small handful from the bag. He bit into one carefully, and was pleasantly surprised. _Not bad._ They had been dried and rubbed with sugar, or something similar. The nuts were a nice touch, sort of reminded him of trail mix.

“Any luck?” Jesus asked as they ate.

“Nothing yet, but there’s a door back there that I think might help,” he said, and filled Jesus in on the path he had taken to get to the locker room.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jesus said as he wiped his fingers on his cargos, “Lead the way.”

He led Jesus back to the prep room, and made his way over to the door he hadn’t used before. This door also had a window, but it was too far into the interior of the building for them to make anything out. He pulled his flashlight out again. Jesus having read his mind, it would seem, had pulled his out also.

He nodded, and they worked in perfect unison. Jesus tipped the door open with his boot, and he slid into the room, flashlight glancing over the left side of the room, his back now propping open the door. Jesus was right there a moment later, a reassuring weight bumping his right shoulder, and his flashlight illuminating the right side of the room. They were so in sync it was like they had always travelled together.

This wasn’t one of the rooms they had been looking for, but it was close. This room served as an antechamber to the prep room. There were two exits here too. One probably led to where the prisoners were kept. The other, would take them to what they were looking for.

He tipped his head to the door on the left. It didn’t have a window which meant prisoners shouldn’t have been able to access it. The door opposite them had a large glass window with shatterproof glass. He led them to the door on the left, and was surprised to find that he felt secure having Jesus at his back. Normally, he’d be watching every angle, but some part of him _knew_ he could trust Jesus.

The next room was the guard room. This was where the guards got all the gear they needed to defend against the prisoners. It wasn’t the armory, but it would have riot gear, low scale weapons, and weapon holsters. The room was clear of walkers so they both took a side and worked carefully from top to bottom, left to right.

When they were done they had a small pile of gear in the middle of the room. They had found two bullet proof vests, a helmet, a few pistols and holsters, and two prime pieces, a shotgun, and a semi automatic sniper rifle. They had also found several boxes of ammo for each gun. It was a start.

“We are going to need a bag to haul and stash all this stuff,” Jesus said as he looked over the room again.

“There might be a gear bag in the armory,” he replied.

“No way,” Jesus said.

“No way what?” he asked.

“We don’t know what happened to the rest of the prisoners or the guards,” Jesus said, “I want to find guns for Alexandria just as much as you do, but we can’t go further in. Not with just two people. It’s too risky.”

“The hell it is,” he growled. He did not suffer through two days with this _asshole_ to walk away with eight guns and a few bullet proof vests. He marched over to the door leading further into the prison, and grabbed the handle, but Jesus stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“I know you want to protect your people, I do, but this isn’t a smart move,” Jesus said. “Even if we make it there, and it’s loaded with guns, we’d waste everything we found trying to get back out again. And what if we didn’t make it to the armory? Alexandria would lose two strong fighters, and they wouldn’t get the gear we’ve already found today.”

“We _need_ to come back with more people,” Jesus finished as he let go of his wrist and looked him in the eye. He hated to admit it, but Jesus was right. Again… But he was _always_ right. Always thinking with his head, never letting his emotions get the better of him.

He needed air.

“I’m gonna go check the locker room for anything else we can use. You, _stay_ ,” he said and went out the door before Jesus could argue with him.

He made it to the break room before Jesus was on his heels. “You stay,” he mimicked, “Who do you think you are?” Jesus was on the edge, maybe he just needed a little _push_ , so he leveled him with a flat glare. He’d been waiting for this. Nobody was _perfect_ all the damn time.

“You’re a real prick, Daryl,” he said, “You know that?”

“Psht. I been called worse,” he replied, and he _had_. Who the fuck did Jesus think he was anyway? Calling him a prick in that calm ass tone of voice of his. Acting all high and mighty, pretending he wasn’t pissed as all get out. It drove him insane.

“Let’s put everything on the table, Daryl,” he said coolly. “What exactly is your problem with me?” he asked.

_Mother fucker!_ There it was again; polite peaceful conflict resolution. _This fuckin’ guy makes me crazy!_ He tried to walk away and let it drop, but Jesus wasn’t having it. “Don’t you dare try to blow this off, Daryl,” he said. “What is so god damn wrong with _me_?”

He tried to walk away again, but Jesus got right up in his face and said, “What’s _the_ problem?” His voice was calm, and his face was flat and even. He may have been smaller, but he didn’t show an ounce of fear. With a sigh of frustration Jesus asked, “What about me is _so_ god damn awful?”

When he didn’t reply that only seemed to irritate Jesus even more. He struggled to keep his face neutral. Jesus stepped all up into his personal space again. _What’s with this asshole? Always in_ my _face. Always in_ my _business._

“You are quite possibly the most difficult, frustrating, and complicated person I have ever met,” Jesus said, “And _I_ have to deal with Gregory on an almost daily basis, so _that_ should tell you something.”

“Alright, you really want to know,” he asked.

“Yes, I _really_ want to know,” he replied.

“You’re a freak,” he said simply.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Jesus replied, his glare icy.

“Nothin’ gets under your skin. Nothin’ ruffles your feathers. It ain’t natural,” he said.

Jesus started to laugh. _This asshole is_ always _pushing my damn buttons._ Here he was mere steps away from blowing a gasket, and Jesus was _laughing_. “Nothing gets under my skin?” he said and laughed again. “Nothing ruffles my feathers?”

The switch in Jesus flipped so fast, it _almost_ threw him off balance when Jesus got right up in his personal space again, mere inches separating their faces. “Nothing gets under my skin,” he said again. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jesus asked.

He’d never seen Jesus like this before. He had a feeling very few ever had. He sort of _liked_ it; made Jesus seem more human. “You’ve been under my skin since the minute I met you,” he said, “Standing there with your gun in my face acting like you’re the baddest mother fucker who ever breathed.”

Jesus was near fury, his chest rising and falling rapidly with quick breaths. “Standing there judging me. Telling Rick he could pick anybody _but_ me,” he snapped as he jabbed a finger into his chest. “What is it about me that bothers you so much?” he asked.

“Have you ever actually thought about it, or are you just one of those people who needs something to be pissed at all the time?” he asked, “Why am I not good enough for Alexandria?”

“I’ve got news for you, Dixon. Just because I don’t _advertise_ my bullshit like _some_ people, that doesn’t mean I don’t have any,” he said. “And just who do you think you are anyway?” he asked. “You made up your mind about me the _minute_ you met me. Who gave _you_ have the right to judge me? Why am I not good enough _for_ you? And another thing…”

“Wait… what?” he asked interrupting Jesus mid rant.

“I _said_ ‘Why am I not good enough for _you’_?” his replied sarcastically.

“Look, you wanna come to Alexandria, I can’t stop you. There are plenty of people who _want_ you there. Who would be happy to have _you_ there,” he replied. “I may be Ricks two, but when it comes to shit like that, he’s final word.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked. “ _Nobody_ is _that_ oblivious,” Jesus said with a laugh, but this one was different then all the others. It had sadness in it. It was like Jesus was laughing at himself, rather than a joke he didn’t know or understand.

“I don’t follow,” he said.

“You really are going to make me spell it out, aren’t you?” Jesus asked.

“Spell what out?” he asked.

Jesus stood there opening and closing his mouth over and over. It would have been funny, but he felt like somehow the joke was at his expense. “Uh…” Jesus let out a breath and tried to smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well… uh… How do I say this,” Jesus asked himself.

“You know how I told you I went to Negan’s because Sasha asked me to,” Jesus asked, and he nodded ‘yes’ as a reply. “That’s a lie. I was already planning on going there,” he said.

“Why?” he asked.

“You,” Jesus said.

“Why?” he repeated.

“I-I wanted you back,” he replied.

“Why?” he asked again.

Jesus looked down and then up, with a shaky breath he said, “Because the only thing I’ve ever really wanted is _you_.”

“What are you…” he trailed off. The other day Jesus and Maggie had been talking about him. He tried to turn it over in his head. The idea was foreign to him. Not the idea of wanting someone, though he’d never felt it himself, but that someone would want _him_. He looked _at_ Jesus; really _looked_ at him.

Since the day they’d met Jesus he’d seen a lot of different sides to him. The bad ass, the scrapper, the guardian, the peacekeeper, the problem solver, they all had complete control, but _this_ Jesus? Breathing hard, flustered, and biting his bottom lip, this Jesus was _soft_. The redness in his cheeks made his skin creamier and his eyes bluer.

Four words kept playing over and over in his mind. He didn’t understand where any of it was coming from. He didn’t really understand how Jesus felt. He’d never really _wanted_ anything for himself before. At least he didn’t think he had. Whether he didn’t deserve it, or maybe just couldn’t handle it.

“Look, Daryl, you don’t have to say anything,” Jesus said, “I just, I-I…”

Jesus stopped when he shortened the space between them. Funny, he hadn’t noticed it earlier, but even from here he could smell Amaryllis. It was faint, but it was there. Amaryllis meant beauty beyond outward appearance, and Jesus _was_ pretty. It was plain to anyone with eyes, even a redneck like him, but there was more to him. He circled around behind Jesus. He breathed in the scent; quietly letting it fill his senses.

Amaryllis suited Jesus.

Jesus’ breath hitched when he buried his nose in his hair. It was just like that morning in the cabin. He felt surrounded by Amaryllis. Jesus lifted his left hand slowly and moved all his hair over his left shoulder and pushed back, closing the space between their bodies.

He pressed his nose into Jesus’ nape. His skin was soft and smelled of sweat, but it wasn’t bitter. His skin smelled sweet, like a balsam poplar in the early days of spring. He moved his nose over his skin from his nape, down his neck, and across his right shoulder. Those four little words kept getting louder and louder in his mind. Jesus tried to turn to face him, but he stopped him with a strong arm around his waist.

His right thumb had unintentionally found the skin on Jesus’ lower left abdomen. He was even _softer_ there, and his hand sought more contact. His nose moved up over Jesus’ shoulder and across his collarbone. He reached the divot below Jesus’ right ear. His scent was strongest here. It was intoxicating. He smelled like honey but muskier.

When he tipped his head to take a stronger sniff his lips accidentally brushed over the side of Jesus’ neck. A shiver went through Jesus’ body from the small contact, and he let out a gasp. There was something in that sound. It made him _feel_ things.

His heart was beating faster, and his breathing was actually loud enough to hear. His mouth had gone dry. His face and neck felt warm, but nowhere near as hot as his right palm felt resting against Jesus’ skin. Even though he was holding Jesus in place, it was like he was being branded; heat moving from his palm to his arm, and out into the rest of his body.

Is this what it felt like?

_Want._

He hadn’t been hard in years. Not since his wet dream days and even those had been very few and very far between. He couldn’t remember it ever feeling anything like this. He remembered the near painful hardness and sensitivity, but the dry mouth, the tingling fingers, the extreme sensitivity to smell? Yeah, that was all very new.

Those four words were all he could hear and see and think.

He tried to adjust himself without pushing Jesus away. Instead all he managed to do was make himself harder. Jesus sighed and pressed back locking their hips together, nestling his dick right in the cleft of his ass. Amaryllis was everywhere. He could practically taste honey on his tongue and in his mouth. He’d never been much for sweets but right now it was driving him to distraction. Jesus canted his hips, a slow up down motion.

_Take. Own. Claim. Keep._

It took about five seconds before he had Jesus face down and ass up, bent over one of the tables in the room. His mouth and teeth were all over Jesus’ neck, hands struggling to undo Jesus’ belt. He struggled in vain until Jesus moved his hands out of the way and undid his own belt. Without the belt to hold them there his pants immediately fell to his ankles.

He went to work on his own belt, leaving Jesus’ neck behind so he could watch what he was doing. He could swear he had fingers, but he couldn’t seem to make them work the way he wanted them too. A few more tries had his dick free, and he was sure he’d never felt anything _so_ amazing in all his life.

He spread Jesus’ cheeks, looking for the thing he _needed_ most right now. When he found it, he was mesmerized for a moment. It was almost the same shade of pink as Jesus’ face when he blushed. He used his left hand to keep Jesus’ cheeks spread, and used his other hand to guide his dick to Jesus’ rosette.

He was about to push in when Jesus stopped him saying, “Daryl, wait,” and wriggling as far out of reach as he could, which wasn’t far. “Dry is going to be painful for both of us,” he said, “use spit or something.”

He spit into his right hand then rubbed his fingers over Jesus’ pucker. It unfurled right before his eyes from the soft pressure. He did it once more for good measure watching the edges flutter just the tiniest bit. He spit into his palm one more time and ran it over his dick.

Jesus breathed out slowly, pushing out at the same time that he pushed in. He’d been wrong before. _Jesus_ was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, let alone speak. Velvet tight hot walls squeezing him from root to tip. Jesus sighing softly below him, the scent of honey and Amaryllis nearly overwhelming him.

When he started to move Jesus brought his right hand up under his head to keep from banging his forehead on the table. He put his left hand on the table for stability, and used his right to pull Jesus’ hips back to meet his own. Jesus entwined the fingers on their left hands and started rocking back to meet him. The extra push made Jesus’ walls clench even tighter.

The friction was good, too good. He must have been doing something right because the sounds Jesus was making would have made a sailor blush. It was part breathy gasp, part satisfied groan, and part helpless moan. He’d never understood the meaning of the word erotic until this very moment. That sound made him slam his hips harder, made him move his hips faster.

His fingers and nails were digging into Jesus’ right hip, but he didn’t care. Some part of him _wanted_ to leave marks behind. When he bit into Jesus’ neck, his body jerked beneath him, and his left hand clamped down _hard_. He tried to keep pumping his hips, but Jesus’ walls had him in a vice-like grip. Shudders ran through Jesus’ small frame. He could feel every single one radiating through his cock. Jesus’ walls working in concert with his trembling body.

He bit down even harder when liquid fire raced through him from head to toe. He came hard and fast nearly blacking out from the intensity. He’d drawn a bit of blood from the back of Jesus’ neck, so he licked at it gently. He laid there breathing hard, pinning Jesus down until his dick softened completely and slipped out.

He sank to the floor, taking Jesus with him, their fingers still entwined. He sat with Jesus practically _on_ his lap. Jesus was staring at him,  _again_ , but for the first time, it didn’t bother him. Instead, he starred back. Jesus brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and he didn’t mind the small gesture. Jesus’ hair was everywhere, sticking to his forehead, neck, and shoulders. He was breathing hard, flushed, and slick with sweat.

This Jesus wasn’t the bad ass, the scrapper, the guardian, the peacekeeper, or the problem solver.

This Jesus didn’t have his shit together.

This Jesus was a complete and total mess.

But that was alright…

…because this Jesus was _his_ Jesus.


End file.
